And Keep Your Enemies Closer
by Crazed Fuzzle
Summary: She'd known he was alive. He would have been an imbecile not to know she was. Still, both of them were rather surprised to see each other. And as the old saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Synlet
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is by far the strangest pairing I have ever shipped. Blame it all on Guille van Cartier's wonderful work on deviantART. This chapter is dedicated to Kia, my honorary muse.

She'd known he was alive

Her family didn't think so, or at least that's what they claimed. There had been an explosion, after all, and so what if they hadn't found a trace of his remains in the wreckage? It wasn't too much of a stretch to guess that his body—what was left of it, anyway—had been incinerated. So her family was content to believe he was dead and gone and done playing games with their lives.

Violet, though—she wondered. Of course she didn't voice her suspicions aloud; on top of being a quiet girl, she knew they would dismiss her concerns. And really, what did it matter as long as he didn't bother them? But Violet was a smart girl, and the more she thought about it the less sense it made for him to have died. He was a villain that prided himself on brain power; surely he could have found a way to slip away unscathed and unnoticed, staging his death to plot his revenge unmolested. And she had listened to her parents' and Lucius' stories of the old days, and knew that defeated foes had a nasty tendency of proving impervious to certain-death situations.

Some days she even admitted that she didn't want to accept a role in a man's death, no matter how slight a role or how evil a man.

So Violet had never really abandoned her conviction that he was alive.

And if he was alive, he would have been a complete imbecile not to know that _she_ was alive.

Even so, both of them were rather surprised to see each other.

It had been a few years since—well, since everything. 18 years old, Vi had jumped at the opportunity to go to college and get a break from her beloved, if sometimes smothering, family. Helen had understood her need for independence, and when Violet confessed the location of her dream college had convinced a reluctant Bob that a few hundred miles' distance would be good for their daughter. So Violet went off to school, and learned things, and met new people, and fought crime on the side (when she didn't have too much homework, that is).

Crime fighting had nothing to do with what she was doing now, though. What she was doing now was walking to lunch after class with a few friends. It was perfectly normal. She'd done it dozens of times before. It was even normal for her to glance at the engineering building as they passed by it.

What was not normal was, instead of skimming over some hum-drum old professor or party-hardy student, her eyes locked on a thickly built man with a strong jaw, blazing hair, and piercing blue eyes who was striding through the doors.

Her double-take was a matter of disbelief, not a problem of recognition. Even without the mask and costume there was no mistaking him, just as she knew beyond a doubt that he recognized her. Although that last might have had something to do with how his eyes widened and his mouth gaped a little as they stared at one another. She supposed her expression must be much the same.

She snapped out of it as her friends began calling her to hurry up. Both of them had frozen in place upon discovery: her on the sidewalk, him on the flight of steps leading down from the doors. Now she turned to catch up with her friends, glancing back just once, uneasily, to make sure she hadn't imagined the whole thing.

X X X

She was distracted for the next few days. She tried to concentrate in class, but somehow the sudden reappearance of a psychopath that had tried to kill her family seemed a bit more important than a lecture on linear algebra.

There was a knot of tension in her stomach that made eating difficult. _Why was he here?_ It had to be more than a coincidence. He must be planning something, trying to pick her off while she was separated from the rest of her family, or to use her as leverage against her father. The thought of being shadowed by him, her first experience with a villain, filled her with fear at the same time it filled her with indignant anger that he thought she would be an easy target.

But then there was that part of her, the part that had known he was alive, that questioned her assumption. If he had been tracking her, why had he seemed so stunned to see her?

Either way, the next time she was ready for him.

Again she was out with her friends, this time spending an afternoon chatting in a coffee shop. She'd just glanced up from her conversation and there he was, sitting solitarily a few tables away…watching her. As she made eye contact with him, he raised a challenging eyebrow, smirked—and stood up.

Violet was suddenly filled with panic. He wouldn't really approach her in public like this, would he? While she was with her friends? Did he even know her real name?

Thinking quickly, she stood up, hoping that maybe she could lead him away from her friends, maybe keep them out of danger if she moved fast enough.

No such luck.

"Hey Vi, what's up with you?" one girl, short and redheaded, demanded in protest to her friend's abrupt movement.

"I, uh… I have to…"

And Violet hesitated, scrambling to think of an excuse, and then it was too late.

"Not leaving already are you, _Miss Parr_?"

He looked almost normal, she noted, wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans. Except there was still a trace of that maniacal, cocky glint in his eyes, eager to see how she would react to him.

Obviously she couldn't play to his expectations.

"Nice haircut," she countered, and was not disappointed when he frowned at her unfazed drawl.

He'd opened his mouth, presumably to issue a comeback (or a defense of his shorter, semi-ordinary hair) when her companions recovered from the surprise of being approached by this older, boyishly attractive man.

"Aren't you gonna introduce us, Vi?" one asked, a demand that was soon taken up by the other two.

Violet winced at the thought of him knowing who they all were, and his smirk returned in full force. The worst part was that she didn't really even have a choice.

With a sigh, she turned to the group. "Lydia, Dana, Kitty, this is…er, Buddy. He's, um…he's an _old family friend_," she lied pointedly, fixing him with a glare that said he'd better go along with it if he knew what was good for him. He, however, seemed delighted at her little fib.

"Oh, yeah, her dad and I _go way back,_" he agreed with a sinister, ironic smile. "Tell me, how _is_ Mr. Inc—"

"Hey, Buddy," Violet interrupted loudly before he could let the name slip. Speaking quickly, a fake smile plastered across her face, she grabbed his arm and started tugging him towards the exit, for the moment heedless of exactly _who_ she was towing. "Why don't you and I go catch up over dinner? Sorry to ditch you guys, but I haven't seen Buddy in _ages_ and I'd really like to hear _what's going on with him_, so I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Bewildered, the three girls could only stare in their wake.

X X X

Although it was only early spring, the late afternoon sunshine was still blinding. Violet suspected that it was mocking her.

It did, however, seem to match Buddy's—Syndrome's—mood rather well.

"Oh man, did I hear you right?" he inquired with a thrilled grin, voice full of barely restrained laughter. "_Invisigirl_ is taking me to dinner? I mean, talk about unexpected!"

Violet rolled her eyes at his (hopefully) deliberate misinterpretation. She began to walk and wasn't sure whether to be glad that he followed. "My name's Violet," she informed him flatly. "Some of us have secret identities to protect, you know."

"Hey, fine, I get it," he replied, holding his hands up defensively. "No supers here." She glanced at him sharply at that, knowing better than to just take his words at face value, Meeting his suspiciously bland gaze, she finally gave a mental shrug and turned her attention back to walking.

Now the sick feeling that had been plaguing her for the past week returned. This was crazy. She couldn't trust him. Her father would have a heart attack if he ever found out she had done this. How did she know that he didn't have fifteen henchmen lurking in some alley, ready to kidnap her? How did she know that he wouldn't slip something in her soda while she wasn't looking? She didn't, and she wasn't sure that she could handle him if he chose to turn aggressive.

Finally, after two excruciating blocks, Violet was pulling open the door to the cheapest burger place on campus. She could sense his amusement as he glanced around the restaurant, assessing it. She ignored this while she placed her order, and didn't wait for him as she took her food to a table in the very center of the restaurant.

"Now this is what I call romantic," he proclaimed sardonically as he sat down across from her and picked up his burger.

"Uh huh," she returned, equally sarcastic, "because I always make sure to have candle-lit dinners with the men that try to kill my family."

"You just had to go and bring that up, didn't you?" he asked, sobering slightly. "Really, though, I'm surprised you haven't called in dear old dad yet. What, you think that since you haven't heard from me for three years I'm not a threat anymore? Think it's nice and safe for you to sit back and scarf down fries? Well, you can dream on, sister, cause—"

"Please," Violet interrupted, swallowing a bite of cheeseburger. "I just didn't want you announcing my dad's secret to the whole coffee shop." It was a partial truth; she also didn't want him anywhere near her friends, but she knew better than to let him know that. It was something he could use against her far too easily. "Besides, if you were really going to do something to me, you've known I was here for a week already. I figure I'm about as safe here as I am anywhere on campus."

Syndrome—Buddy—she wasn't sure _what_ to call him—avoided answering immediately by way of having his mouth full, but still gave her a measuring, very unnerving stare.

"So," he began slowly, "Violet's here without the rest of her _super_-dee-duper family, is she?" The predatory look on his face made her lean back in her chair instinctively. "And the since the rest of your family is not here, that means that I'm not the only one who hasn't done anything yet."

Violet shrugged. "You looked so normal, I had to make sure it was really you first." She ignored his now disgruntled expression and brandished a french fry at him. "You _are_ supposed to be dead, you know."

"Now we're getting somewhere," he declared, sitting back smugly. "You want to know how I survived, don't you?"

"Well, since you obviously want to tell me…" the young super drawled, raising a pointed eyebrow. He, predictably, chose to ignore her sarcasm.

"Zero point energy can be very useful, you know," he began. "I couldn't stop the explosion, of course, once my cape got caught in the turbine, but hey, nothing's perfect. And thanks to that lovely explosion, I was in no shape to escape the authorities, and there was no way your darling father would let it go if he thought I was alive, so I figured, hey, why not let them think I'm still dead? Only problem is, dead people can't access bank accounts, and being a full-time villain costs boku bucks. So here I am, stuck lying low directing _university research projects _of all inane things until I have enough resources to stop worrying about what happens when the government realizes I'm still around. Man, have the great fallen… And you, little girl, are not going to tell anyone about any of this, by the way."

"Oh really?" Violet asked, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yes, really," Syndrome informed her, leaning forward in a mirror of her motion. "Because I happen to know that you don't want Dana, Lydia, or Kitty to have any…unfortunate accidents anytime soon."

Their gazes locked for a few tense seconds in which Violet had no witty comebacks, and he was too busy being intimidating to say anything. Then, of course, the mood was broken as he reclined once again and nonchalantly crumpled the wrapper to his burger into a ball (an absurd part of her mind wondered when he'd had time to finish his burger what with all that monologuing).

"As _enlightening_ as this little tête-à-tête has been," he concluded, standing up, "I really do have better things to do than sit around chatting. So if you'll excuse me?" He gave her a mocking half-bow, and then he was gone.

Violet let out a deep breath, blowing an errant lock of hair away from her eyes. Well, she was still alive, at least. For now.

One thing was for sure. She would be keeping a very careful eye on the engineering building for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to all of you that put this story on your alerts list, and thank you very much to dEnIsE tHe StRaNgE, the only person who reviewed my first chapter. I don't bite, really! You guys can talk to me!

Chapter 2

Violet stared intently at the phone sitting on her desk. Tentatively, she began to reach out to it, then with a sigh pulled her hand back. She had been contemplating that phone for quite some time—days—and frankly she was getting frustrated with her inability to make a decision.

The problem wasn't that she didn't know who to call. She had the NSA's number on speed dial; ever since supers had been reinstated into the crime-fighting system, that had been a given. Even if she didn't want to call in the feds, her own family was equally in need of the knowledge that Syndrome—or at least Buddy Pine—was still at large.

No, what she lacked was the resolve to actually punch the buttons.

She knew that she ought to. She would never be able to live with herself if someone died because she lacked the pluck to give her knowledge to someone that could legally do something about it. (That was something new heroes had to be particularly careful about: legality. If he didn't pose a direct threat to someone's well-being, she couldn't touch him.)

On the flip side of the same coin, though, she wouldn't be able to live with herself if one of her friends was hurt or killed because she made that call despite his warning. Especially since, when all was said and done, he _wasn't_ actively threatening someone's well-being…besides her friends', at least. He had had plenty of opportunity to threaten _her_ well being, if he wanted to, and for some unfathomable reason had done nothing of the sort. He had, from what she gathered, been living a quiet, civilian life for three years.

On top of all that, she was fairly certain that he had the skill to either tap her phone or bug her room with no one the wiser.

Finally Violet turned away from her phone. This was getting her nowhere, and she needed to clear her mind.

If her powers had not included invisibility, she considered as she began to change, being a superhero in college would have proved close to impossible. As it was, her dormitory was gaining a reputation for being haunted. (This was a point that her friends debated at great length; Lydia firmly believed in ghosts and poltergeists while Dana—a pre-med student—insisted that there was a scientific explanation for everything. Kitty was just amused by their heated discussions.)

Her current suit was virtually identical to her first one, but adjusted to her adult body. Although she had inherited some of her mother's curves, she was still a skinny girl. The unforgiving skintight material of the suit gave her good incentive to keep off the legendary freshman fifteen.

Placing the simple black mask on her face, Invisigirl left the world of the seen. At least with the rumors of ghosts she didn't have to be quite so careful about doors opening without reason or phantom footsteps, but she was still cautious. It wasn't as though people couldn't put the pieces together: Invisigirl _had_ been seen on campus once or twice.

It was with a sigh of relief that she left the building.

Patrolling on campus was nothing like the city at home. Few villains would choose to target a university when there were other, more tantalizing options, so for the most part it was just small crime that she dealt with. That was just fine with her.

The sound of yelling caught her attention. From what she could hear, they yellers were both drunk and angry, and there were at least three of them.

With a frown, Vi picked up her pace and headed in that direction. Most of the problems that she dealt with here involved drunk people, and _angry_ drunk people were the worst, because they tended to do incredibly stupid things. Whatever as going on, it probably wasn't good.

Stereotypically the noises seemed to be emanating from an alley—one next to a bar, which explained the drunkenness.

There was a lull in which the sound from the bar drowned out what was going on in the alley—it figured, since she was finally close enough to hear what was going on—and then a wordless roar of rage. Violet turned the corner just in time to see one young man, shaking with anger, draw a gun and train it on a figure struggling with two others that were trying to pin him against the brick wall.

Instinct took over. Invisigirl dashed in front of the victim and threw up her trademark shimmering purple shield just as the gun went off. She barely flinched as the bullet ricocheted off her barrier, but her opponent was far less composed. The man stared wide-eyed at her—she realized with a jolt that so much of her concentration had gone into putting up the force field in time that she had dropped her invisibility at some point—and beginning to shake in terror rather than fury, dropped the weapon and turned to run.

She was barely torn for a moment over whether to help the target of these young ruffians or go after the gun's owner. The man that had formerly been helpless had already taken advantage of his captors' astonishment and was trading blows with them in a seemingly equal match. Violet dashed after the gunman and easily dropped him with a well-placed kick from behind.

By the time she had dragged his unconscious body the few feet back to the alley, the former victim had felled his attackers and was leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, with a casualness belied by the glare he was directing at her.

She gave him a warning look in return, and thankfully he got the hint and waited to start on his tirade until she had finished radioing the police.

"My hero," Buddy spat contemptuously. "I was so scared those terrifying men would hurt poor helpless me. Whatever would I have done if the big strong super hadn't swooped in to save the day?"

"Uh _huh_, and you were going to stop that bullet how?" she queried in response to his sarcasm. After a moment or two of him glaring at her silently, she turned away to start tying the muggers' wrists together in case they woke before the authorities arrived. "That's what I thought."

She heard him push away from the wall and take a few steps toward her.

"I'll have you know I had the situation perfectly under control," he told her hotly.

Violet rolled her eyes, although since she wasn't facing him he couldn't tell. She'd known he would be difficult about this since the moment she'd recognized him. She'd even considered leaving him to deal with the problem himself, but in the end she was too much of a hero for that.

She could have mocked him. She could have asked him what had happened. Instead she just glanced over her shoulder at him and remarked, "You know, I'd love to hear exactly how 'in control' you were, but I kinda got the feeling you _didn't_ want to be here when the police arrive."

"How thoughtful of you," she heard him mutter, but nonetheless in a matter of moments he was gone.

X X X

Like the others, this run-in with Syndrome left her preoccupied—which was particularly frustrating since the reason she'd gone on patrol in the first place was to clear her mind.

Why had she told him to go? She could have turned him in to the police along with the other men she'd apprehended and he wouldn't have had the chance to lay a finger on her friends.

It was just that it didn't seem fair to save a life just to end it—because, put on trial, Buddy Pine was destined for the electric chair.

In the end, she realized that this was the answer to her dilemma. He was a murderer, and she despised what he had done, but she could not condemn him to death.

That having been taken off her shoulders, Violet was relatively relaxed the next afternoon. It was a gorgeous day outside, and she was taking advantage of the weather by studying out on the quad rather than holed up in her dorm room.

Unfortunately, her ­chemistry homework was not being particularly cooperative at the moment, and it was leaving her rather frustrated. Being more inclined to the arts and language than science and math, this drawing polymers thing was just not making any sense. It would be simply lovely, she contemplated, if this stupid assignment just disappeared…

Which is why she was left blinking in confusion when, without warning, there was no more homework sitting in her lap.

"Draw a trimer peptide of the amino acid sequence glycine, alanine, alanine," a voice read from her sheet. "Man oh man, those were the days!"

By this point, Violet was done with being surprised by Buddy's unexpected appearances. Not deigning this with a comment, she chose instead to wait to see what it was he wanted.

"What, no quippy remark?"

Of course, there was always the good old fashioned way. "Can I help you?"

"Looks like you're the one who needs help here," he informed her, scrutinizing her homework. Contemplatively, he pulled the pencil from the metal coil of her notebook.

"Somehow I doubt you're here to help me with my homework," the teenager deadpanned. Honestly, it was no wonder her father hadn't wanted "Incrediboy" following him around if he was half as annoying as a child!

"Right you are," he informed her in the exuberant manner of a game show host, and then fixed her with a gaze that had suddenly drained of humor. "After last night's little display of 'heroism', I don't trust you notto call in that goody-goody family of yours after all. I think I need to keep a closer eye on you, make sure you remember exactly who you're dealing with here."

Casually he dropped her homework back into her lap and smirked. "Besides, it's just too much fun to annoy you."

Once again he was walking away by the time she could respond. Muttering under her breath about cocky, no-good villains that couldn't just leave her alone, she returned her attention to her homework, only to have her mouth fall open in shock.

In two minutes, that arrogant show-off had finished the homework she had been poring over for half an hour without even getting a third of the way through.

That man was extremely lucky that she had decided she didn't want him in custody after all. Although, come to think of it, that idea was looking more and more appealing.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the wait; I had a killer case of writer's block. I promise that it won't happen again! And in case you're worried that this is an endless story, don't be; I have it planned out for six chapters, so we're officially halfway through.

My sincere thanks to all of you who reviewed! I wish that more people were like you!

Chapter 3

"You actually listen to this stuff?"

Violet glanced up at him over the top of the textbook she was supposedly studying.

"Seeing as that's my iPod, I'd probably say yes," he was informed, and promptly dismissed.

Buddy—that was what he went by now, although he despised the name—snorted, unimpressed with both her choice in music and her attitude.

Not that he wasn't used to it by now, of course (her attitude, that was). Over the past two weeks or so, he'd had enough exposure to it. True to his word, he'd made sure to give her plenty of reminders not to slip up. At first it had just been the occasional appearance: walking past her while she was studying on the quad, sitting a few tables away when she went out to lunch—all only when he wasn't working, of course. (It wasn't like he was stalking her or anything; he'd just slipped a tracking device in her bookbag.)

And he'd intended to keep his distance; the girl was a pain with her grating super egotism and impertinence. He'd hoped, at first, that she was an exception to the rule that supers were self-righteous goody-goodies, but her unsolicited rescue had disabused him of that notion pretty quickly. Of course he was glad to be alive, but the _nerve_ of that girl to think that just because he didn't have any "super powers" he needed rescuing… it was pretty much unforgivable. It made no sense for her to have rescued him either, after everything he'd done—particularly since he wouldn't have needed rescuing anyway, with his zero-point tech still functional (and something he meant to keep from her for as long as possible). It was, quite frankly, infuriating. So yes, he meant to avoid contact with her as much as possible.

She had effectively destroyed that idea.

The ironic thing was that it wasn't even when he was trying to follow her that it happened. What kind of nerd would bring her bookbag to the movies anyway? No, he'd just thought that a night watching a low-budget horror movie would be a nice relaxer after a week of working with idiots. Really, his coworkers had trouble grasping even the simplest of ideas sometimes; it was enough to make a man go crazy! He was looking forward to mentally superimposing their faces on the victims of the slasher flick.

So he'd been taken a little off guard when a familiar slip of a college student appeared in the seat next to him, crossing her arms tensely and seemingly trying to lean as far away from him as she could without attracting attention. He looked at her in consternation.

"Aren't I supposed to be the one following you?"

"Don't think I'm here because I like you," she informed him bluntly, making it clear that her feelings were just the opposite of liking.

"You don't like me?" he responded with arched eyebrows. "I'm hurt."

In answer she jerked her head towards a spot a few rows away where, he realized belatedly, her three friends were chatting animatedly. "They recognized you and it would've looked weird if I didn't say hi. Hi."

With that she had stood and all but fled back to her friends. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the movie and thought that was that, but now he found that he couldn't resist occasionally dropping a few remarks to her as he passed by. And then she started remarking back, and he discovered exactly how right he'd been about it being fun to annoy the little brat, and soon he was staying longer and longer until here he was, lazing across the table from her in a student lounge conducting an intensive investigation of her iPod.

"Where's the good stuff?" he demanded, completely mystified by her taste in music. "Where's the metal? The rap? And who on earth actually listens to Tchaikovsky?"

Violet rolled her eyes, not looking up from her textbook. "Some of us actually like the classics, you know."

"Right," he grumbled, suddenly cross. "Should've known."

_Now_ she was looking at him, eyes narrowed slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that it makes sense for someone like _you_" he spat the word, infusing it with loathing, "to listen to all that hoity-toity elitist garbage."

"Someone like me?" she asked, her voice low. Slowly she shut her textbook, never once breaking eye contact with him. Despite himself, he had to admit that this young woman had come a long way from the spoiled, whiny child he'd first made the acquaintance of; this person was almost dangerous.

"Yeah, someone like you. You and your entire higher-than-thou family, who think you're so much better than the rest of the world just because _some_ of us missed out on the lucky gene."

"You want to know what I think?" Violet didn't wait for him to reply, which was just as well because he had no intention of replying nor interest in what she had to say. He already knew more than enough about what went on in the minds of supers. "I think that you're full of it. I'm not gonna deny that sometimes my dad can be a jerk, but I don't know if you noticed, I'm _not exactly_ my father. Kind of a few differences; you know, muscle mass, gender… personality. I mean, I'm pretty sure a scientist like you can grasp the concept that when men reproduce they don't exactly clone themselves. And not to pass judgment or anything here, but he listens to music from the _80s_."

"Oh, that's rich," he observed with false humor. "You seriously expect me to believe that you're different after that stunt you pulled two weeks ago. Incredible! I mean, I know you people are a little on the slower side, but this just takes the cake!"

"What, you wanted to get shot?" What was it about this girl that kept her from getting riled up? Of course, her little speech hadn't been without irritation and indignation, maybe even a little anger, but most supers he'd known would have been bellowing in rage by now.

"I might've preferred it to getting rescued by one of your kind," Syndrome retorted darkly—because by now, the unobtrusive identity of Buddy Pine had been left far behind. This conversation was pure Syndrome.

"You know, I don't really think you're in a position to be accusing us of prejudice," Violet pointed out a little too calmly for his liking, and reclaimed her iPod from his clutches. It was the kind of calm that masked white hot rage, or at the very least simmering anger. And from his experience, anything in that range burned whatever it came in contact with.

Still, who was Syndrome if not one to tempt fate?

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, inclining his chin and looking as condescending as he could manage. He was not a man to do something halfway. "And why is that?"

"Because we're not the ones who attempted genocide."

The way she made that quiet statement was somehow more livid and dangerous than all the bellowing supers he'd met combined, and for once he was at a loss for words. She stood stiffly and walked away from him, fury evident in her stride and the way she brushed past the young woman entering the lounge without a backward glance.

"Yikes. Talk about bad timing."

Syndrome glanced up, surprised that he was being addressed. For a moment he couldn't place the black hair and almost deathly pale skin, but as she continued talking her identity became clear. "I was gonna see if Vi could make it to the art show this weekend, but I think I'll let her cool down a little first."

"Lydia, right?" he asked, just for the sake of appearing normal. He had to keep up appearances, no matter how much he detested this alter ego of his.

"Right! I've got a few photos in the show, so I'm trying to spread the word. Hey, you're welcome to come too." She rummaged in her bag and produced a flyer, which he took automatically. "Well, as long as whatever you did to tick Violet off wasn't too horrible."

"Hey Lyds, you comin' or what?" a rather ghastly blond girl called from the doorway.

"Whoops. Sorry, gotta go!" And just like that, she was out the door.

Buddy looked at the flyer in his hands, contemplating.

No, of course he hadn't done anything too horrible to get Violet angry. Kill a few dozen supers, try to destroy her family and kidnap her brother…not horrible at all.

Yeah. Right.

X X X

He did end up going to the art show.

He couldn't quite have said why. He hadn't planned on it in the slightest; in fact, following their dispute, he had been keeping as distant from Violet as he could without making it seem like he was avoiding her. The feeling seemed to be mutual, as she studiously ignored him for the remainder of the week. This being the case, he had originally deemed it unwise to push his luck by showing up; there was no telling what would push her over the edge and into informing someone of his existence despite his mostly sincere threat.

Nevertheless, Saturday evening found him in a rut with his latest project—just because he no longer had the resources to create most of his inventions didn't mean he was going to stop dreaming them up, after all—and he needed something to get his mind off the problem for a while. Without really putting any thought into his actions, he donned a blue dress shirt and got into his car.

He wondered, as he stepped into the gallery, if this was really something he should be doing, but shook off his doubts. It was a little late to be questioning his actions now.

Buddy wasn't normally the artsy type, but he could at least appreciate good art. AS for this show, it was a toss-up: some of the pieces were shockingly good, while others made him question the sanity of whoever it was that had the responsibility of deciding what was showcased.

There were a good number of people there, so it was a surprise that he even heard the conversation over the murmur of the crowd.

"Come on Lyds, tons of people liked your photos!"

"I know, Betty. I just wish more of my friends could have made it."

Buddy turned from where he was contemplating a piece with distinct surrealist origins to see Lydia and her appalling blonde friend standing a few yards away, in front of what was presumably the display of Lydia's work.

So none of her friends had shown? That meant that Violet wasn't here. He was oddly relieved and disappointed—oddly because he shouldn't have felt either.

He sighed, knowing he was going to regret this, and approached the display.

The joy that lit up her face was worth the subsequent lecture on the influences of death on Lydia's work. It wasn't that he was going soft; it was just that he knew what it was like to be a neglected genius—and this girl was, without a doubt, a genius with a camera. What hypocrites supers were; Violet had claimed to be such a different creature from her father while here she was, completely brushing off one of her (supposedly) best friends as much as Mr. Incredible had brushed off Incrediboy. Any slight affection he might have started to feel towards her was rescinded, his anger renewed.

"Violet! You made it!"

At the exclamation, Buddy's head snapped around, immediately honing in on the somewhat flustered looking Invisigirl. She was busy trying to simultaneously smooth her tousled hair and straighten her deep red blouse, but stopped both to smile at her friend.

It was obvious the moment she noticed him.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her smile froze, but as he watched she visibly set aside her surprise and anger to approach her friend.

"Sorry couldn't be here sooner. Something came up at the last minute."

"Don't worry about it," Lydia told her with a smile. "Betty and Buddy have been keeping me company."

"Oh really?" Violet inquired dryly, fixing him with a penetrating stare. He stared back, raising an eyebrow, not willing to back down. He'd done nothing wrong, and he knew it.

"Yeah. I was just telling them how this series was inspired by the uncertainty of death…" and she was off and running.

When Dana and Kitty showed up together a little bit later, Buddy took the opportunity to say his goodbyes. It had been…interesting, but he didn't exactly belong in a gaggle of teenaged girls.

"Hey Buddy!" The voice stopped him a few steps out the door. He turned to see—who else—Violet standing just outside the entrance, looking a little hesitant.

"What, ditching so soon? That's not very nice. What with your late entrance and all, I'd almost say you didn't want to be here," he replied scathingly, challengingly.

"I'm going right back in," he was informed, and he noticed that in defending her actions she lost that little bit of uncertainty. "And I was fending off possessed machines earlier. You know, protecting innocent civilians that are actually grateful to have their lives saved."

"Was there a point to this, or are you just trying to annoy me to death?" he inquired, crossing his arms. He really did not feel like revisiting their previous conversation at the moment, and he really wanted to get back to his project.

The awkward, hesitant look had returned. Violet tipped her head down a little, allowing her hair to cascade forward and somewhat obscure her face. He had a feeling it wasn't a conscious maneuver; it had the air of an old nervous habit.

"I—look… Thanks for coming. For Lydia, I mean. You probably don't care, but it means a lot to her. She takes her photography really seriously."

"I noticed," he commented. "Morbid kid, isn't she?"

Violet's lips twitched upward. "You have no idea."

They were both quiet for a few moments, letting the conversation rest.

They realized at the same time that they were actually smiling at each other, which effectively put an end to that phenomenon.

"Um, I'd better—" Invisigirl began stumblingly, motioning wordlessly at the building behind her.

"Yeah, you do that," Buddy agreed, equally set off balance.

The whole car ride back to his apartment he mulled over what had just happened. She was the daughter of his sworn enemy, and yet there were moments like that—moments when he almost felt a sort of camaraderie, that he had to forcibly remind himself who she was.

And slowly it began to occur to him that maybe she had a point: maybe she wasn't her father.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Just fixing a couple of mistakes that I just realized I'd made, folks. Not a real update. Sorry.

Chapter 4

"What's a super's favorite part of a joke?"

Violet lifted her head from her hands to stare perplexedly at the man that had just sat down across from her. "_What_?" she demanded out of confusion rather than a desire to hear the rest of his joke.

"The punch line." He waited a moment expectantly as she blinked at him in confusion, then shook his head. "Yeesh, talk about a tough crowd." Another moment passed as she was scrutinized, but she was past feeling uncomfortable around him. "What's got you so down in the dumps?" he finally asked, remarking on what she had no doubt was an incredibly grim expression.

It was warranted; Violet was having a bad day. For one thing, she'd spent all night studying and as a result had overslept, missing her entire 9 o'clock class. At lunch she'd realized that she'd left her wallet back in the dorm, and with the spare change in her pocket only had enough for a soda, which she'd promptly spilled. It was raining, and besides the normal grey dreariness that typically ensued she'd slipped on the wet pavement and banged her knee—fairly hard, at that. Now, on top of everything else, the school computers seemed to think that the memory card with her big research project on it was blank, and the report was due _tomorrow._

So here she was, in the library, trying to do in one night the research that had originally taken her days.

Not that Buddy needed to know all of this. She would keep it simple for him.

"Stupid computers won't read my memory card," she told him, holding up the offending device.

"Is that so?" he inquired, apparently intrigued by her dilemma. He grabbed the card from her hand and began inspecting it. "Have you tried reconfiguring the—no, of course you wouldn't." He glanced around the large room for a workstation. "Aren't there any computers anywhere in this miserable excuse for a library?" he demanded in a sch a personally offended way that it would have made Violet laugh had she not given up hope.

"Next floor up," she replied, and immediately Buddy was standing and heading towards the stairs. Violet watched him curiously, wondering if he was really about to help her, and if so, why?

"Well?" he called over his shoulder. "You coming or not?"

Surprised, she grabbed her books and hurried after him.

Since he apparently worked for the university, he had no problem logging in to the school computers. It was amazing to watch him go to work. She wasn't exactly sure what he was doing, but whatever it was, he was doing it fast. After a few minutes of incomprehensible numbers and letters dancing across the screen, he sat back smugly and crossed his arms.

"Why don't you give it a whirl now?" he suggested, and she cautiously approached the computer.

There it was—her file staring up at her innocently as though it had been there the entire time.

Violet's head whipped around to look at Buddy, still smirking—although the expression seemed to convey satisfaction at his victory over the computer rather than his obvious technological superiority over Violet.

"It works!" she exclaimed, somewhat shocked.

"Don't look so surprised," he instructed, rolling his eyes. "Of _course_ it works; _I'm_ the one helping you."

Relief washed over Violet in a heady wave. Without even thinking, she flung her arms around a very surprised Buddy's shoulders. "You are a life saver," she told him giddily.

She felt him shift slightly. "Is that what I am?" he inquired, and all at once Invisigirl realized that she was embracing Syndrome and that this was probably not good.

Awkwardly, but very quickly, she pulled away from him.

"I, uh…sorry about that," she muttered, rubbing her arm uncomfortably and looking anywhere but at him. It didn't help; she could feel the amusement radiating off of him.

"You know," he began, and from the corner of her eye she could see him casually inspecting his fingernails, "if you really wanted to express your undying gratitude, you'd do something for me in return."

She forgot her embarrassment and looked up at him, gaze penetrating. "Like what, exactly?" she demanded suspiciously. She'd known he couldn't have been helping her just out of charity—whatever he wanted had to be something truly nefarious, totally devious. Like—

"Buy me dinner." At her incredulous look he added, "I'd say a drink, but something tells me good little Violet is under 21 and wouldn't _dream_ of touching booze." She continued staring at him, not quite believing what her ears were telling her.

"No," she stammered, "I'm good with booze." She didn't really drink that much, but what college student _hadn't_ gone to a party and drunk a little? Aside from that, the idea of taking Buddy to dinner was just too weird. Weirder than the idea of buying him a drink.

Buddy grinned in satisfaction. "Now that's how you keep a guy on his toes."

X X X

Of course, Violet being underage meant that she couldn't buy his drink directly; she gave money to him, but he had to order it himself. He seemed less than pleased with this, but since neither of them wanted to risk a run-in with the authorities, there was no other way to go about it.

"So why are we here, again?" Violet asked him as the serving girl left their table.

"Because it doesn't smell like smoke and vomit?" he suggested with a quirked eyebrow, referring to the fact that most bars on campus had that defect, and took a gulp of his gin and tonic. Violet herself had turned down his offer of anything stronger than a soda; getting accidentally drunk around him definitely did not seem like the best of ideas.

"I meant, why did you even want me to buy you a drink in the first place?" the college student prompted with a half-smile tempting one corner of her mouth upwards. It was hard to decide whether his deliberate obtuseness was amusing or annoying.

He heaved a sigh and leaned back in his seat. "If you _must_ know, I was bored."

"You were bored," Violet repeated disbelievingly. He seemed to have made it his mission tonight to keep her off-balance. "And you had no one else to bother?"

"For your information," he began, eyes narrowing dangerously, "none of my 'peers' have the proper respect for a scientist of my intellect. You can't honestly expect me to socialize with people like that, can you?"

The implications of that statement sunk in. She had no doubt that it was his egotism that kept him alienated from his coworkers, but even so…that he was so starved for human connection as to resort to _her_, the daughter of his arch-nemesis, was such a strikingly sad thought.

Violet glanced down at her cup suspiciously. Was it possible that he had slipped some sort of drug into her drink without her noticing? Because that was the only reason she could think of that would rationalize her sympathizing with him.

"Hate to tell you this," she drawled, slightly irritated both at her own sentimentality and his haughtiness, "but that's the real world."

Buddy rolled his eyes and took another swig of gin and tonic. "How do you stand it?" he muttered, and she honestly couldn't tell whether he was being sincere or sarcastic.

She shrugged, taking it for a legitimate question. "You get used to it."

He snorted derisively into his glass, taking another swallow before setting it down. "Maybe I don't want to get used to it."

"Too bad for you, then," Violet countered somewhat crossly. Friendless or not, he was acting like a spoiled child, and she was getting fed up with it. She stood, somewhat abruptly. "I'm going to the restroom."

She needed to cool her temper. Fighting through the mass of people on the way to the ladies' room did not help, nor did the 10-minute-long wait to get in, but finally she reached her destination. She sighed and splashed some cool water on her face. She normally wouldn't put this much effort into getting along with him, but she really wanted to avoid making a scene in public. Any attention drawn to either of them would be very bad.

For a few minutes, she just leaned against the wall, taking deep, calming breaths. When she could trust herself not to start a shouting match at the drop of a pin, she once more ventured out into the cheerful chaos of the Dancing Dove's main room.

The first thing she noticed when she caught sight of her and Buddy's table once more was that there appeared to be a new collection of shot-glasses in front of the erstwhile villain—from what she could tell, there were at least three. The second thing she noticed was that either what had been in them was particularly strong, or that Buddy was a horrible lightweight—or both, for that matter—because from where she was standing, he looked rather plastered.

And because she was busy noticing these two things, Violet failed to notice the young woman carrying a drink across the room, and subsequently bumped into said young woman a few yards from the table.

A few drops of the fruity-looking beverage splashed onto Violet's cheek and arm, but the majority of the drink ended up down the other girl's front. A front that had rather a lot of skin showing, she noticed.

"I'm so sorry," Violet exclaimed, horrified at her own clumsiness.

"You little hussy!" the blond girl screeched shrilly, glaring at her malevolently from beneath eyelashes positively dripping with mascara.

"I'm sorry," Violet repeated dumbly, but earnestly, "let me buy you another drink, I can—"

"Who cares about the drink?" Blondie exclaimed, plucking at the hem of her shirt and pulling it as far away from her body as she could. "What about this top? It's completely ruined! Do you know how much I paid for it?"

"I—" the young super began, but was cut off once more.

"I recognize you," Blondie hissed, drawing her too-glossy, too-pink lips into a disdainful scowl. "You're that little snot from my chemistry class. You think you're so smart, so special? You think you can just run into me and spill my drink and ruin my shirt and get away with it?" She leaned towards Violet menacingly, eyes narrowing. "Well, let me tell you something right now. You're not special at all. You're dull and mediocre. Girls like you end up old spinsters holed up in a library or a laboratory and never get so much as a second glance. You are nothing next to me. And don't you forget it."

With that, Blondie turned on her (painfully high) heel and stalked off, hips swaying in an exaggeratedly provocative way manufactured to catch eyes—not that there weren't already eyes on her, given the little debacle that had just concluded.

Violet stared after her in a stunned silence, the girl's words resonating painfully. _You're not special_. That had been the mantra of Violet's early teen years, before Syndrome had come along and turned her universe upside down. She had thought she was a freak, certainly—but nothing special, nothing worth noticing, nothing that would catch anyone's attention. She had gotten past that, mostly; what girl could be a super heroine and not feel special and confident?

But sometimes, she wondered. Of course Invisigirl was special. But Violet Parr… Sometimes the two seemed like entirely separate entities. And sometimes she couldn't help but fear that as a human being, she was doomed to insipidness.

Laughter broke her out of her dejected reverie. Casting around for the source, her eyes finally lit upon –who else?—Buddy Pine, completely in stitches.

She completed the final steps to the table and slumped into her chair.

"What's so funny?" she demanded flatly, although she had a feeling that she already knew. Of course he would be amused to find his feelings about supers being expressed by an unwitting "victim" of super superiority.

But Buddy chose to surprise her once again.

In between peals of laughter, he managed, "Her—telling _you_—" He took a few breaths, apparently calming down, but still grinning. "I mean, I don't know what's better, the look on that bimbo's face when you covered her in daiquiri, or that she thinks she's going further in life than you."

He was slurring a very little bit, but he didn't seem quite as drunk as she had first assumed—maybe just a tad tipsy.

"I would've thought you'd be all for a super being put in her place," Violet muttered miserably, allowing a bit of self-pity. Today was continuing in the vein it had begun: horribly.

"Pfft," was Buddy's eloquent reply. "Hello, where have you been? Genetics over genius is hardly my shtick. Even you have more brains than that ditz with too much make-up and too little clothing."

"Gee, thanks." Despite the sarcasm, she was a bit taken aback; backhanded or not, that had been a compliment. She wondered how much of this was the alcohol talking, and how much he really meant.

"And come on, it's not exactly like you're bad looking either," Buddy continued, apparently ignoring her interjection. It was at this point that Violet decided that his abilities to filter his words, at least, were impaired. There was no other way she could handle being all but called attractive by _him_, of all people. It was just too creepy otherwise.

"Just what every girl wants to hear," she drawled, still in sarcasm mode, because there was really no other way to respond to a comment like that. Still, a hint of a smile played around her lips; despite herself, she was being cheered up.

"Hey, if you didn't want my opinion, you shouldn't have asked for it," she was informed, and while she was busy trying to remember when exactly she had asked his opinion on her looks, he went on to add "I'm just saying you're not doomed to a life of solitude."

This was becoming awkward rather quickly, despite the fact that she knew he was slightly intoxicated. She glanced at her watch in hopes of an escape, and found it. "Glad you think so," she told him overly brightly, "but I've gotta get going."

"What?" he asked, glancing at the time himself. "This early?"

"I didn't really get a lot of sleep last night," she informed him, "and I'd kind of like to _not_ fall asleep on top of my textbook."

"Oh." He considered this for a moment, then took on a worrisome grin. "Well, if staying awake is the issue…"

He stood up too casually, then quickly snatched an ice cube from the glass that had formerly contained his gin and tonic and made a move in her direction. Violet squeaked and spun in her chair, instinctively knowing that he meant to put that ice cube down the back of her shirt.

The ensuing battle to keep the ice cube far away resulted in Violet ultimately tipping her chair sideways and ending up on the floor, knocking Buddy's feet out from under him in the process (the ice cube was, happily, lost), but both of them were laughing too hard to particularly mind. Later Violet would reflect that he must have been a lot drunker than she had realized to have made the attempt in the first place, and she would wonder what had made him feel the need to get that drunk. That night, however, she was busy marveling in the fact that she had been enjoying herself. With Buddy Pine.

X X X

"There's nothing on," Buddy complained from the beanbag chair in Violet's dorm room. Violet, sitting at her desk, looked over to where he was making a general nuisance of himself.

"No one said you have to watch tv," she pointed out and continued to check her e-mail.

Ever since that night at the bar, things had been interesting between them. They would have actual conversations like normal people. They did normal people things, like hang out in her dorm room, and Violet had a feeling that both of them actually somewhat _liked_ spending time together. If it had been anyone else, and if he didn't have a standing threat against her friends' safety, she would have called him a friend. As it was, there were moments that were rather awkward, but somehow this had become the norm.

Violet had moments that she felt guilty about this—about keeping him a secret from her family and the authorities, about starting to like him when she should hate him—but she told herself that she really had no other choice than to keep Lydia and Dana and Kitty safe, and that she should make the best of her situation, and that the best way to keep an eye on him was to spend time with him. So she almost had herself convinced that it was all right.

"Well, what else is there to do?" he demanded petulantly, stabbing the remote control with a viciousness she was glad was directed at an inanimate object.

"I'm sure a genius like you can find _something_," she deadpanned. Shutting off her computer, she walked the few steps it took to stand next to him and crossed her arms. "You know, you could always try the TV Guide channel," she added; the constant channel flipping was getting on her nerves.

"I refuse to use TV Guide on principle," he explained. "It—"

"Hold it!" she cut in sharply, gripping his shoulder. "Go back."

"Oh no." The image on the screen sunk into both of their eyes—but it meant something different to both of them. "Don't tell me. You're actually going to—"

"It _is_ my job," she told him, moving to where she kept her costume. She pulled out the red material (she never could figure out what it was; probably something that Edna had patented and was beyond the capabilities of anyone else to produce anyway) and draped it on the bed.

Buddy looked at it and scowled. "Why are you still wearing that thing anyway? I thought little Invisigirl had left the nest."

"I'm still a part of my family," she argued, turning invisible and beginning to take off her clothes. She wouldn't normally be doing this, even with her invisibility preventing him from seeing anything, but this was an emergency. Time wasted could cost lives.

"And you don't want independence from that at all?" he demanded, unaccountably angry. Violet would have liked to have been able to find out why, but she was in a hurry.

"I happen to like being a part family," she explained coolly, pulling her t-shirt over her head. She wondered how this must seem to him, who could only see her clothing and nothing supporting it.

"And if you keep wearing that getup, that's all you'll ever be," he almost snarled. "One of the oh-so-wonderful Incredibles."

"I'm not the one that has a problem with the Incredibles," she snapped back, shoving her left leg into the suit.

"What, you don't ever want to be your own person?" Buddy demanded, now standing and staring straight at her. It was unnerving to be stared at while half-dressed, even if she _knew_ he could only see her clothes; she froze. "You don't ever want to be _more_ than just Mr. Incredible's little girl?"

"Don't project _your_ issues onto _me_," Violet retorted, now truly mad. Angrily she pulled on the rest of the suit.

"Hey, I'm just calling it like I see it," he growled, voice low. "As long you wear that suit, people aren't going to say 'thank God, it's Invisigirl.' They're going to say 'thank God, it's an Incredible.'"

"That's what happens when you work as part of a team," she bit out, although that last remark had stung a little. She pulled on her right glove. "Not that you would know anything about what that's like."

"At least I had the backbone to try something on my own," Syndrome came back with, advancing on Violet, apparently not concerned that he could not see the person with whom he was arguing.

"And look where that got you." Invisigirl knew that she was walking on dangerous territory by dredging up their less-than-spotless past, but she was past caring. She was furious, in fact, and remembering very quickly why she had hated him in the first place.

"Yeah, right here arguing with a little girl that's too afraid to let go of Mommy and Daddy to go make an identity of her own," he agreed scornfully. "Good point. I'm done wasting my time."

With that, Buddy Pine walked out of Violet's dorm room, slamming the door in his wake.

Invisigirl stood, stunned and uncertain of what to think, mask in her hands, staring at the door, for a total of ten seconds. Then she set her jaw and put on her mask, and made her way to the door herself. She had a job to do.

She could be upset later.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry for the wait; sadly, school has a horrible tendency to interfere with things that one would rather be doing. I'm sure you can understand.

Warning: This chapter contains a tad bit of foul language! I didn't think it was bad enough to up the rating, but to defend your delicate sensibilities, I thought you should be warned.

Chapter 5

Buddy paced his apartment, searching for something to do in his frustration. Nothing seemed quite adequate. He'd attempted to pick up his latest invention only to set it down again, his agitation preventing him from focusing on the problem at hand enough to make progress, which only led to more agitation. He'd glanced at a book for all of one minute, during which he realized that he had been rereading the same passage without comprehending it since he had started.

Eventually his feet led him to the kitchen, although he didn't particularly want to eat. In fact, what he really wanted to do was throw something across the room.

He contemplated the plate beside him on the counter for a moment before giving in to that urge. It was truly satisfying to hurl it with all is strength—and hey, it was plastic, so he didn't have to worry about it breaking (even if that might have been even more satisfying, his new and _un_improved budget only permitted cheap plastic).

Why was it that every time he started to feel like Violet was actually someone worthwhile she decided to go and do something to prove him wrong? Something like _this,_ this refusing to be the independent person that he _knew_ she could be and instead clinging to her despicable family. He'd thought she had more respect for herself than that!

But apparently he was wrong for wanting her to have an identity of her own. And since he couldn't stand the sight—or rather, thought—of her wearing that uniform, with _Mr. Incredible's_ logo stamped across her chest, he had left.

It was maddening as all hell.

So now he was all worked up and had no way to get rid of his irritation. In the past his anger and frustration had fuelled him in his work, but this time they were counterproductive. He felt as though he should be doing something, but—

He got his answer as his gaze passed over the currently blank television, and turned away from it with more anger than before.

He would not turn on that tv. He absolutely _refused_. Because he had no wish to see coverage of the attack on campus-town that Invisigirl was no doubt already resolving. He had no desire to have the cause for his displeasure shoved down his throat by the media. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with anything concerning Violet Parr for a good long time.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder how the brat was faring against whatever threat had decided to pop up today. He wondered how much of a mess she was making of things, with her apparent dependence on her family and exclusively defensive powers.

Even so, it was more of a lack of anything better to do that made him finally cave and pick up the remote, although he did it with a growl.

He stared at the screen where some amateur villain was fending off what the newscasters were referring to as "a mysterious invisible force" and waited for the inevitable amplification of his anger.

"Shit."

He sat down hard on the cheap sofa that had come with the apartment, a little dumbstruck.

That amplification hadn't come. Instead there was a mild sense of something that he could only call _concern_. He was actually worried about what happened to Invisigirl, and despite any attempts to do otherwise, in the end there was only one conclusion he could draw from that.

"I actually _like_ her. When the heck did that happen?"

For the life of him he could not figure out when he had made the transition from liking to annoy her to liking her as a person. Even angry with her, he couldn't hate her with that ease he had once been able to—because, as she had once pointed out (had it really only been a handful of weeks ago?) she was so different from her father, and he had finally started to realize that. Maybe that was the reason he hated her suit so much: it reminded him that this young woman he respected happened to be the daughter of—to love—the man that he despised more than anything on earth.

He didn't want to like her or to respect her. In fact, he was still angry with her—but that anger took on a completely new tone with the nature of his unexpected revelation.

Buddy hurled the remote at the wall, now inspired by a completely new source of frustration. (He noted that a remote control was a far more effective projectile than a plastic plate; there now seemed to be a few chunks of plaster missing.)

How in the world was he supposed to get his revenge on Mr. Incredible if he was worried about the well being of the man's daughter? This effectively threw a wrench into all of his plans along those lines.

He was in a state of severe irritation by the time the events unfolding television caught his attention.

Apparently this obviously inexperienced bad guy could talk to machines or something, because he was using normally inanimate pieces of technology to occupy the "mysterious invisible force" whilst he wrought destruction.

This situation was wrong on so many different levels. This so-called villain clearly didn't know the first thing about being evil; for one thing, where was the purpose to his destruction? Such a rookie mistake! And was he really trying to take down an Incredible when Syndrome himself hadn't been able to? It was obvious that the only reason that Invisigirl wasn't handing him his ass on a platter was because she was busy trying to protect civilians.

It occurred to him, briefly, that sooner or later running back and forth to rescue people would have to wear her out eventually, and that the results of that would not be good, but he didn't dwell on that.

Because Syndrome had just figured out how he would get his revenge after all.

X X X

He hadn't kept the cape.

Even if he had managed to get out of that explosion with his life, it had been far too close for comfort; he'd gotten badly burned, and still had a few nasty scars from it. So he had decided that the cape, while it leant a little flare to the ensemble, had to go.

The suit itself had been too badly damaged for him to salvage, and the material for super suits was expensive. So there was no suit either.

In fact, all that he had left from his days as Syndrome was the mask and the zero-gravity cuffs, and it would just look stupid to wear the mask without the super suit. Not even his old hair style could be quite recreated, at least not with the time that he had to work with. So this would have to be a test run of his plan, because he couldn't exact his revenge wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

He always had the zero-gravity cuffs close at hand, though, and it didn't take long to snap them on and dash out the door.

The scuffle was taking place more or less at the center of campus, which made it more or less simple to get there in a timely fashion. It helped that at the moment the majority of the police force was very concerned about the poser-villain—and not at all about traffic laws.

There was, predictably, quite a crowd surrounding the scene of the battle being held on the quad, which was not helped by the fact that the majority of individuals even living on campus were college students and thus more likely to take stupid risks like being spectators to a super battle. Thinking fast, Syndrome turned and dashed into one of the school buildings surrounding the open space of the quad.

After all, he considered as he dashed up the stairs, there was no way he could have gone unnoticed in that crowd, and he did not want to be noticed. For today, anyway. Until he could get a new suit.

He burst onto the roof and immediately positioned himself at a good vantage point. From what he could tell, the idiotic villain—perched precariously and happily on top of a steam shovel that must have been procured from one of the numerous construction sites on campus—was finding great pleasure in using his powers to command vending machines to attempt to run down a group of civilians while a tell-tale violet bubble protected another from the efforts of a particularly vicious lawnmower.

Yes, that wannabe needed to be taken down a few notches.

It was somewhat galling for him not to steal the spotlight, because he truly loved being in the position to mock and torment his foe, to make sure that it was obvious who was superior. However, under these circumstances it was necessary for him to remain unnoticed, so he concealed himself as best he could and, without putting on a show, engaged the beams that he personally had perfected.

Since he couldn't exactly see her, Syndrome imagined Invisigirl's look of surprise as she recognized the blue rays that had halted the errant machines in midst of their attack. (He flattered himself enough to assume that she would remember them, particularly since they had been used against her in the past).

After taking the time to relish the moment, he then chose to relish using a well-practiced flick of his fingers to cause the lawn mower and vending machines to collide. Although the sounds resulting from this weren't very pretty (the lawn mower's blades started whirling again as soon as he released it from the zero-gravity), it was an efficient way to rid them of both threats.

As he turned his attention to the next wave of possessed machinery, he really hoped that Invisigirl would take the hint and go after the idiot pulling the strings.

This was Invisigirl's fight, after all. He would have loved to put that tech-savvy freak in his place, but he had a feeling that Violet wouldn't forgive him if he took out the villain she was convinced was her responsibility to take out. And man was it a strange feeling to actually care about whether he'd be forgiven.

He smirked as he heard the poser—that was another problem: a villain had to make his name known!—begin his encounter with an invisible young woman that had been pissed off in the first place. There seemed to be a great deal of insistence that his attacker show themselves, and then just wordless noises of fright and/or pain.

Syndrome couldn't spare a glance at the skirmish. Although the wannabe was too distracted at the moment to imbue any more machines with his will, it would appear that it remained in those machines he had already gotten to without the need for ongoing attention. This being the case, by the time that he had finished putting all the killer appliances out of commission, Invisigirl had discovered a way to disable the poser's powers.

He didn't wait to see the villain arrested; it was more or less a done deal now. Satisfied with the day's efforts and vaguely hungry, he left the scene. He had a feeling fast food would really hit the spot right about now.

X X X

It was twenty minutes before Violet showed up at the cheap fast food joint she had led him to when all of this had started. She didn't even bother to look taken aback upon seeing him lounging nonchalantly at a table in easy view of the door.

"Why am I not surprised that you're here?" she drawled as she set her tray down on the table.

"What can I say?" he asked with a smirk that belied his offhand words. "I got a craving for a burger."

Unsurprisingly, Violet chose to roll her eyes at this comment. "Right. I believe that."

"Believe what you want to," he told her with a shrug.

They were silent for a few minutes as she ate, him watching her with a smug look across his face. It was really too fun to bait her, knowing that it was only a matter of time before she would ask.

"All right," she began finally, "what exactly were you doing back there?"

"Giving you a hand with an amateur that doesn't even deserve the title of villain?" he suggested, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed. He couldn't make this too easy for her, after all. And that eye-roll was just too amusing to miss an opportunity to invoke it.

"I know what you were doing, but why were you doing it?" Violet demanded, sounding somewhat exasperated. "I thought you were upset with me. And besides that, since when do you help defeat villains?"

"Since it was about revenge," he informed her with a slightly evil grin, choosing to ignore all but the last question.

"_Revenge_?" she repeated, her face a mask of disbelief. "You mean you had a bone to pick with _that_ dork?"

"Hardly," he scoffed. Slowly he allowed his lips to curl into the most self-satisfied, wicked smirk in his arsenal.

"I just can't wait to see what your father will do when he finds out that I'm a good-guy."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: The final chapter is finally here. And you didn't think I'd finish it! But this means that this is your last chance to review my story, all of you that haven't yet... so please do!

Thanks for this chapter go to my dear friend Neal, who is the Queen of Snark and as such served as inspiration for a few lines in here.

Chapter 6

"Yes, Mom, I'm _fine_," Violet repeated for what felt like the seventeenth time, shifting her phone to the other ear. She was beginning to regret even telling her mother about the debacle with the nameless villain earlier that week. Her parents had, of course, been appalled at the idea of their little girl actually facing an actual villain on her own, no matter how horrible of a one he had been.

Rolling her eyes at Buddy, who had the misfortune of being with her when Helen called and was now smirking annoyingly, she returned her attention to what was being said on the other end.

"I'm sorry for fussing so much, honey," her mother was telling her. "It's just that your father and I worry about you, all by yourself out there. And it seems like you're not telling us something."

Violet winced. She had told them everything she could, but…she wasn't about to reveal Buddy's existence just now, particularly not over the phone. That was something that she would leave for later, after he'd gained enough credit as a "good guy" that Bob couldn't go after him. Well, would meet more resistance in going after him, anyway.

"Come on, I'm in college. I can take care of myself," Violet protested. "And I'm not hiding anything."

Across the table from her, Buddy's smirk widened

"If you say so, sweetie," Helen agreed skeptically. "But you know you can tell me if you have a boyfriend, right?"

"Mom!" Violet exclaimed, sitting straight up in a mixture of embarrassment, surprise, and indignation. "I do _not_ have a boyfriend!"

She was pretty sure that it was taking all of Buddy's self-control not to burst out laughing at that last comment.

"All right, all right," came Helen's response. There was a pause, followed by the shout (thankfully not directed into the phone) "No, Jack-Jack, don't—" and a crash. "I'm sorry Vi, I've gotta go. Love you honey."

"Love you too, Mom," Violet replied with a small smile that was both in affection for her insane family and gratitude that she wasn't the one who had to deal with whatever her youngest brother was up to. "Bye."

As she hung up she fixed a stern gaze on the very much amused red-head before her. "Not a word," she instructed.

"Not a word about what?" Buddy inquired, the picture of exaggerated innocence—although she could tell that he was having trouble reigning in his smirk. "Why would I ever want to say anything about the fact that your mother seems to think I'm your boyfriend?"

It was not fair, Violet decided, for someone so evil to have such adorable freckles.

"I doubt she had you specifically in mind," she pointed out in lieu of dwelling on the fact that she found his freckles adorable.

"It would be a nice addition to my master plan," he mused with a mock-thoughtful expression. "Just think what daddy dearest would say."

"Because I would _so_ go out with you just to help you get revenge on my father," Violet drawled sarcastically, somewhat insulted that this was the first thing that came to his mind in association with dating her, but amused at the same time. Still, she was not immune to the fact that this was a truly bizarre turn that their conversation had taken.

Nor was she immune to the bizarreness of Buddy's revenge. Certainly it would be torture for her father to have to stand back and do nothing while Syndrome ran rampant, gaining public opinion. It struck her as strange, though, that despite the fact that he was still clearly out for revenge, Buddy had chosen a route that didn't involve taking her hostage or something similar. It would have been a simple matter to abuse the trust inherent in their newfound friendship to threaten her safety—to trade her life for Bob's, for example.

It rather disturbed her that, even realizing this, she could not bring herself to be on her guard with this erstwhile villain.

"And you would if it had nothing to do with Mr. Incredible whatsoever?" Buddy inquired with a raised eyebrow, and it took her a few moments to connect the question with her previous statement and grasp the meaning.

For the life of her she couldn't determine whether he was being serious.

"What would you do if I actually said yes?" she replied, question for question. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her chin tilted up in challenge. It wasn't that she _was_ saying yes; it was just that she wanted to watch him squirm.

The other eyebrow lifted to join the first. "You mean other than feel like a complete cradle-robber?"

"It's not like you're _that_ much older than me," Violet pointed out for the sake of argument, rolling her eyes. (Something about Buddy seemed to make her roll her eyes a lot, she observed in a distant corner of her mind). "And legally speaking, I _am_ an adult."

"Well, since it seems that you're so determined to convince me and I'm feeling gracious, go to dinner with me tomorrow. Six pm." He stood up in the conversational vacuum his command left behind, planting his hands on the table and leaning towards her to add, "And don't even think about canceling."

After that, the wide-eyed Violet was left sitting alone wondering what had just happened.

X X X

Their dinner together wasn't quite what she had expected.

Not that she had really known what to expect. She certainly hadn't expected him to ask her on a date in the first place. Nor had she really seriously let herself think of him in a romantic context before, although there had been moments that she would acknowledge that she found him attractive.

This being the case, she was a little surprised at the way that the date—good gracious, had gone on a date with _Syndrome_—turned out.

She had thought that it would be awkward. It really hadn't been; they had conversed as though this was a perfectly normal situation. She certainly hadn't thought that Buddy would act like a gentleman. He had; everything from opening doors for her to refusing to let her pay even though the restaurant was on the pricey side.

She hadn't expected that when he dropped her back off at her residence hall she would give him a peck on the cheek before scrambling out of the car. She had. She hadn't expected that this dating idea would be more than a one-time thing. She found, however, that she _wanted_ to date Buddy for real.

Of course she felt guilty for it—increasingly so as the spring semester grew nearer to its conclusion. This was a man that had tried to kill her father—who had succeeded in pointlessly killing who knew how many others—who had almost ripped her family apart. And there she was, becoming romantically involved with him.

But she rather thought that he wasn't the same as before. He was still arrogant, still contemptuous in regards to her father, still bent on getting revenge. At the same time, though, she could see him growing used to life as a civilian, perhaps even growing _happy_ with it. His revenge was now dependent on him _not_ being evil or playing dirty tricks to gain the public's support; he would have to carry out more than one grand rescue for that, and he couldn't possibly cheat the number of times that it would require.

And obviously he had rescinded his loathing of all things Super, because if he hadn't then what on earth was he doing going out with her?

"I'm going to have to tell my parents about you eventually, you know," Violet observed casually one warmish afternoon sitting on the quad several dates later. He was leaning against the bole of a particularly large tree; she was leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders.

"I would hope so," he returned, looking down at her. "Seeing as it would kind of defeat the purpose of all my careful planning if they didn't even find out that I was still alive and kicking."

"You know what I mean." Violet scooted away from him a little bit so that she could look him in the eye properly.

"Oh, you mean tell them about _us_," Buddy exclaimed, his revelation too over-exaggerated to be mistaken for sincere.

"Thank you Captain Obvious," she muttered, the corner of her mouth angling upwards in spite herself.

"In that case," he continued, pointedly ignoring her acerbic interjection, "I hope you plan on waiting until _after_ I've got a little reputation going for me. Otherwise you'll be out a boyfriend before the day's over."

Violet snickered a little bit. "I'm not sure you'd be safe from my dad's wrath even then. Or my brothers'. _Maybe_ my mom's, if I talked to her first and managed to convince her you're not completely evil."

"On second thought," Buddy suggested with a wince, "how about you just don't tell them at all."

"Nice try," she drawled as she brought her knees up to her chest and looped her arms around her legs. "But they're going to find out eventually whether I tell them or not. At least if I'm the one breaking the news I can do some damage control."

Buddy heaved a heavy sigh, close enough to her that she could feel the expansion and deflation of his chest. "Fine, you win," he conceded, clearly not happy about it. "Just make sure you let me know beforehand so I can start running. I hear Mexico's a nice place to go into hiding."

She grinned at his melodrama. "I think I can probably get them to spare your life," she teased. "If you ask me _really_ nicely."

"How magnanimous of you," he snarked, casting his gaze skyward.

"I could always take the offer back…" she suggested, quirking a challenging eyebrow at him, to which he responded by rolling his eyes and leaning down to kiss her thoroughly.

"That nicely enough for you?" he wanted to know after he had pulled away.

Violet grinned in response. "I guess it'll do."

And, she decided as she leaned back into him once more, her parents could wait to learn about her love life. There was no guarantee that this relationship was going to go anywhere—and wasn't _that_ a strange thought, having a serious relationship, given their history—and in any case, there were more important things to worry about right now, like the finals that would be starting next week. And after that…

"Hey Buddy," she asked, sitting up suddenly to look at him again, "what are you going to do over summer break?"

His sly smirk was answer enough to _that_ question.

Violet had the feeling that it would be an interesting summer.


End file.
